


Websleuth

by Adrenalineshots, ceterisparibus, MissScorp, saviourhere, sonshineandshowers, SoulfireInc



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Family Drama, Gen, Humor, Team Dynamics, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24475453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus/pseuds/ceterisparibus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/pseuds/MissScorp, https://archiveofourown.org/users/saviourhere/pseuds/saviourhere, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulfireInc/pseuds/SoulfireInc
Summary: Gil learns Malcolm’s family has ties to a person of interest in the murder they’re investigating, and he’s forced to take him off the case. Malcolm has to find something to occupy his time while he’s out of commission...
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42
Collections: Prodigal Whump Fic Exchange - Spring 2020





	Websleuth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts).



> For the 2020 Whump Fic Exchange, gifted to the wonderful promptmaster flash, Jameena! Surprise! :)

Some people thrived in nine-to-five jobs, taking solace in the routine of knowing, for every single day of their lives, at precisely what hour they had to show up for work and when it was time to head home.

Routine and office hours were amongst two of the terms that could never be applied to police work. A detective’s job started when the phone rang with a reported crime and ended when the perp was behind bars.

Case in point…

It was getting dark, and they weren’t there yet. Two vehicles drove slowly through late night New York traffic — JT and Dani in a police-issued SUV, and Malcolm and Gil in Gil’s new car. They were both enroute to Tottenville to follow through on a warrant to search a suspected accomplice’s apartment in their murder investigation. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t constitute an emergency, so they weren’t allowed to blue light it and get there faster, a factor Malcolm complained about more than once. He was itching to finally get a good look at the place and add more to his profile.

Sadly, “the place” was located at the far end of Staten Island. 

Just where they all wanted to go at the end of a long workday. 

Traffic was not helping the situation.

Malcolm was restless in the passenger seat, his antsy fingers running back and forth against the door handle, trying to distract himself from his discomfort. If he leaned one way, the leather pushed too hard against his hip. If he leaned the other way, the seatbelt pulled against his bladder, where he had unfortunately overestimated how much seltzer he could drink and underestimated how long it would be before he’d have access to a bathroom.

“Kid, you gotta stop fidgeting. You’re giving me ants in my pants just watching you,” Gil chided for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Sorry, Gil,” Malcolm replied sheepishly. “I’m still trying to get used to the new car.” 

He dared not say more, since he knew Gil was still upset about the last one no matter how hard Gil tried to hide it. He didn’t want Malcolm to feel guilty, which was sweet, but pretty much pointless.

Whatever Gil was going to say was interrupted when Malcolm’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, Malcolm felt a familiar twist in his gut when he saw  _ Claremont Psychiatric _ flash across the scene.

His debate on whether to answer or ignore lasted exactly two seconds. 

He held the phone up to his ear. 

“Now is not a good time,” he said flatly.

“My boy!” His father sounded as elated as always. Malcolm could practically see him dancing through the phone. “They let me have a little nightcap. Phone time in the evening — isn’t this nice?”

Despite himself, Malcolm’s heart sped up, and his fingers rattled in an anxious tremble.

“I don’t have much time, so I’ll get straight down to business,” Dr. Whitly went on, voice still pleasant.

Business? What business? Malcolm couldn’t recall anything from their previous meeting, and he quickly tried to scrabble through their last few interactions so he could at least be a step ahead of his father. Something told him this wasn’t just a friendly chat.

“Your little plan backfired.” And just like that, all the pleasantness was gone.

Plan? What plan?

Dr. Whitly’s voice lowered to a growl. “Asking your mother to bribe the guards into removing my phone access will only bite you in the ass.”

“I didn’t —” Malcolm tried to protest before Martin cut him off, evidently not done with speaking. Which meant no one else, of course, could.

“Not a very smart move on your part, Malcolm. You’ll never learn, will you? I’m trying to  _ protect _ you.” 

“What do you mean?” Malcolm attempted to sound detached, but even he could hear the quiver in his voice. Knowing Dr. Whitly, he would hear it and latch on like an eagle with its talons sunk into its prey.

“Get out the calendar and cross out your days. You’ve awakened the beast.” And now there was something truly volatile in his voice, a frightening edge that made Malcolm’s hand tremble even more violently. “Revenge is coming.”

Malcolm’s stomach dropped. “Are you threatening me?” His father had been angry before, he even said some pretty horrible things, but it was a rare occurrence for Martin to directly threaten him. Why? What had changed? His father just claimed he was attempting to protect him, but now he was threatening him? It didn’t make sense.

Unfortunately, Gil snatched the phone away from Malcolm before he could get his answer. “I won’t ask again,” Gil growled. “ _ Stop _ . Calling.”

Gil didn’t immediately lower the phone — he held it to his ear like he was listening. Malcolm watched Gil’s eyebrows approach his hairline, certain they would rip away from his face. His hand tightened on the wheel, his nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched and unclenched involuntarily. Malcolm had no idea what his father was saying to Gil, but judging by his mentor’s reaction, he had clearly struck a nerve. 

“This is over.  _ Stop _ .” Gil hung up, effectively muzzling Dr. Whitly, and pulled the car over to the shoulder, apparently not caring that they still had a ways to go. “Kid, look at me,” he demanded once he put the car into park and activated his hazards. “ _ Look _ at me.”

Malcolm reluctantly turned his head, still reeling from the odd conversation he just had with his father.

“You’re not his tinker toy when he gets bored,” Gil said firmly, his frustration and concern creased into every line on his face.

“Don’t you mean a spinning top?” Malcolm asked weakly. Flying, then wobbling and crashing wherever he landed. He was grateful Gil was always looking out for him, willing to protect him like he had when he’d arrested his father, but not knowing what Martin’s threat was or why he’d threatened him in the first place was agony. Would he now have to look over his shoulder? Would his mother be arrested?

“Kid — ” Gil’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he answered it before Malcolm could respond. “Oh. Okay, alright.” Gil cleared his throat, his furrows not disappearing. “Will do.” Hanging up, he pulled back onto the road wordlessly.

“What’s going on?” Malcolm asked, deliberately pushing all thoughts and worries about Dr. Whitly aside, infinitely more concerned about whatever it was that was making Gil look so grim.

“Let’s just get to the crime scene.”

Malcolm frowned over whatever Gil wasn’t telling him.

* * *

“Stay in the car,” Gil ordered when they got to the scene. His tone of voice said he wasn’t about to tolerate any argument over being told to stay put. But why in the world had he brought Malcolm on the drive if he was going to hang around waiting? Hadn’t they all learned by now how useful he could be? 

“Gil — ” Malcolm started to say.

He was instantly interrupted. “Central tracked this guy down to your mother’s payroll.”

“And you’re going in without me? No way.” Malcolm was already reaching to open the door.

“I’m the Lieutenant,” Gil said firmly.

“Abuse of authority,” Malcolm shot back, trying to sway him. After all, that worked.  _ Sometimes _ .

“Something happens with you out here with your mother’s name on it, and I’m in trouble,” Gil explained curtly. “Then you can kiss your consultancy goodbye.”

Malcolm kind of hated how Gil insisted on using logic with him, even though all Malcolm wanted to do was go inside. “Fine!” He slumped down in the passenger seat, avoiding Gil’s gaze and staring sullenly at the floor mat.

Gil hesitated, then reached in to set his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “Kid,” he said quietly, “I promise we’ll figure out what’s going on when we get back. But that was my boss on the phone. It was a direct order, so please, for my own sanity and peace of mind, just stay put for once.” Gil would be the one who got chewed out if Malcolm got involved. Malcolm knew he already dealt with enough messes without his antics being added to the pile.

Malcolm exhaled in resignation. “All right.”

He watched Gil walk away from the car and join the team, internally crushed that he couldn’t be with them. He might have to obey the directive, but nothing required him to actually be happy about it. Once again, his family’s name was involved in some murder. Twenty years ago, he’d been too young to do anything. This time, he was old enough to understand that he  _ shouldn’t  _ do anything. Now all he had to do was  _ not  _ think of the fifty million possibilities of how this crime scene could be related to his family.

Oh, and he still needed to relieve himself…

* * *

The small apartment didn’t bother with decorations, most of its space dedicated to electronics, clothes, and food. A fancy big screen television. A row of monochrome dress shirts all similar in style. Every pair of dress pants the same.

Printouts were the chosen wallpaper in the living room. Every inch was covered with photos, discussion boards, notes — all printed off the inkjet that rested on a back corner of the counter.

Gil skipped over the kitchen, relying on his team to tell him what they found as they gathered in the small living room. “What do we have?” he asked Dani and JT.

“Where’s your bodyguard?” JT asked.

“Besides the obvious?” Dani gestured at the walls. “Hell of a quirk.”

Gil gave them a look he had perfected — cut the crap.

“He has a maddening number of precision-sorted DVDs,” Dani commented. “Who even owns DVDs anymore?”

“Those of us who bought them when DVD was a thing?” Gil returned, and Dani gave him an eye-roll. “Can I get a straight story on what you found here?”

“We got his laptop. You’d keel over if you saw his liquor collection,” JT added, rubbing his fingers together to indicate it was pricey. “Every inch of this apartment is some methodically organized system. Maybe he shoulda taken a Xanax instead.”

Gil and Dani both gave JT glares. Gil rescued the conversation, bringing it back on track. “Any weapons? Ties to the murderer?” 

Anything that could help them track down the man they hadn’t been able to identify.

“Laptop is the best bet. Or deciphering the treasure map.” JT pointed at the wall.

The kid would have a field trip with this wall, Gil thought dully. He clung to the hope they might find something without involving him and upsetting the higher-ups. “Do a second sweep. If you still find nothing, we’ll call it a night.”

“No problem, boss,” JT replied, and he and Dani returned to the search.

* * *

When Gil got back to his car, Malcolm wasn’t there. Throwing his hands in the air, the lieutenant swore under his breath.  _ Of course, he didn’t listen. When does he ever?!  _

“Did Bright text either of you?” Gil called over to JT and Dani. His agitation only grew when they just shook their heads. “Great.”

“I’m guessing he gave you the slip?” Dani asked, doing a poor job of covering her smile.

“Someone oughta put a bell or a tracking chip on that guy,” JT muttered out of the side of his mouth, earning an amused smirk from Dani. Gil would have also been entertained if he wasn’t so concerned about where Malcolm had gone. Exploring was an uncontrollable urge for the kid. He turned his head for one second, and Bright was off only God knew where.

Whipping his phone out of his pocket, Gil hammered his index finger against Malcolm’s contact. It took several rings before he got an answer, by which point his nerves were nearly fried. 

“Where are you?” Gil demanded.

“I had to pee.” Gil heard the rushing of water in a sink. “I’m just a couple blocks away.” The sound of his footsteps tapping on the tile made it through the phone. “Be right there.”

“No detours, Bright,” Gil warned.

“Me?” Malcolm asked, far too innocently for Gil’s liking.

“Get your ass back here.  _ Now. _ ”

Gil hung up before Malcolm could protest further and leaned against his car, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He knew Malcolm could handle himself — not everyone became an FBI agent, yet the kid somehow earned that achievement. Ever since Watkins, though, his tendency to worry about the kid had gotten worse. He couldn’t go through something like that again. The knowledge he’d almost lost Malcolm still kept him up at night. He didn’t want to ever see that fear become reality.

Thankfully, as promised, Malcolm appeared within a few minutes. The kid was practically bouncing when he came into view, completely oblivious to the worry he’d caused. “What’d you find?”

“Do you not understand the phrase  _ stay in the car _ ?” Gil asked sternly.

“I didn’t go  _ in the apartment _ ,” Malcolm defended himself, pointing at the building. “Come on, Gil. I was good.” When Gil’s glare didn’t relent, he sighed. “I’m sorry, okay? I know I should have stayed put or at least told you where I was going, but really, Gil. Nothing happened. See?” He waved his hand in front of his whole body. “Still here and in one piece.”

Gil gave him the side-eye. He’d known the kid long enough to catch when he was hiding something, and right now, Malcolm looked like he had an elephant stuffed in his back pocket. Inconspicuous, he was not. He was practically vibrating with excitement. “All right, already…give it up,” the older man said with a sigh. 

Malcolm smiled guiltily, producing the black plastic bag he had somehow hidden from view behind his back. “So, okay…I really went to pee,” he said, sounding defensive enough to make it sound like a lie. “ _ But…I _ happened to stumble across this in the alley a few blocks behind Gelman’s place.” 

With that, he opened the bag to show that it was filled to the brim with shredded paper.

“Did you pee on that?” JT asked, disgusted.

“What, no!” Malcolm frowned. “Of course not! But think about it! Whatever’s in there, Gelman thought it was incriminating enough to shred it to pieces and dump it three blocks away — “

“Wait! You got that three blocks away?” Dani squinted in the direction where Bright had come. “How do you even know that stuff is his?”

“I asked the Nosy Neighbors’ Squad,” he shared proudly.

“The  _ what _ now?” Gil asked.

Malcolm pointed towards the street behind him. The houses were old, their inhabitants even older. Lights from every other window the only thing visible in the darkness, Gil could see an older person looking through some of them, watching.

“Yep,” Malcolm said smugly, “all I had to do was show them Gelman’s picture, and they gave me the dirt. One of them saw him take out the trash earlier today, walking down the whole street despite the fact there’s a can right across from his apartment. They said he looked ‘funny and suspicious.’”

“Give that to Dani to bag,” Gil directed. “And get in the car before I jam you in there.”

“It’s already bagged,” Malcolm pointed out, smirking. However, Dani ripping the bag from his hands coupled with Gil’s glowering stare seemed to encourage him to follow the instruction.

* * *

Back at the precinct, Gil pulled them all into his office instead of the conference room to give them a quieter place to deliberate. It wasn’t like there’d be any less of a scene if he had to assert his authority, but it brought him a sense of comfort.

“Lawrence Gelman. Accountant. Responsible for the detailed line items that roll up into your mother’s taxes,” JT shared, looking at Malcolm.

“So, what did you find in his apartment?” Malcolm asked, hopping foot-to-foot like he was eager to get to the meat of the discussion.

“A laptop,” JT said plainly.

“So that goes to Central and we get back to work.” Malcolm tossed the information aside in a sleight of hand party trick, hoping the team would catch on to the next flashy birdy.

“Websleuths and Justice Quest ring a bell?” JT focused on Malcolm to get his input.

“You remembered?” Malcolm said, putting a hand on his chest like it was a touching sentiment.

JT didn’t look amused. “Let’s say Gelman had a strong interest. Printouts all over that living room.”

“Bright, you just found the golden ticket to going home,” Gil informed him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Malcolm turned brilliantly blue puppy dog eyes on him. “C’mon, Gil — I’ll do anything to stay on the case.”

“Impartiality. The best thing you can do right now is stay away from here and go home. Can I trust you to do that? Tell me the truth,” Gil stressed before he got one of Malcolm’s typical responses.

“Okay, okay — I got it.” Malcolm didn’t move to leave, though.

JT raised his eyebrows. “Just go already, bro.”

“There’s not an award for how long you stand your ground,” Dani prodded. “Still lands you home.”

“You guys are no fun,” Malcolm complained and moped out the door.

Gil let out a frustrated breath, telling himself he would likely need to deal with more of Malcolm’s bellyaching later. For now, they had work to attend to, and who knew what time they’d be able to call it a night and go home.

* * *

Sunshine kept Malcolm’s attention for all of ten minutes. She preened on his shoulder and rubbed against his neck until she realized a toy on the windowsill proved more interesting and flew away.

Just like a certain profiler.

Gelman was interested in crime boards? Malcolm liked crime boards. When there weren’t enough cases at work, he investigated the boards with voracious zeal, speculating and probing for further information until he cracked through to a solution and had something to turn over to the police.

Not that Gil was really pleased when he mentioned he had another cold case to bring to the forefront, or worse, a case to reopen. His side hobby became Gil’s administrative nightmare.

He gave Gil a lot of nightmares, come to think of it. Dread brewed in his stomach — perhaps they were contagious.

The best way to ignore the anxiety? Drowning himself in another case, relishing each minute detail until they muted everything else in his mind.

He wandered upstairs and opened his laptop at his desk, searching the boards for a case to quench his thirst.

* * *

The conference room table was filled with shredded paper fragments. Some sliced lengthwise by machine, others ripped into tiny bits by hand, tinier and tinier until fingers could no longer grip them. A few hundred puzzle pieces of all edges, unclear how any of them fit back together.

“You really should have gotten a tech to do that,” Dani teased JT over a loaner laptop where she was researching Gelman’s printouts.

“Gil wanted it close to the vest,” JT reminded her, sliding around some of the slices.

“Didn’t mean ya had to go piecing together old bank statements.” She clacked away at the keys and flipped over to the next reference page.

“He left all those printouts on the wall, but shredded these?” JT tutted. “It’s in here,” he said, clearly bound and determined to prove he was right.

“They all look the same, I don’t know how — ”

He held up one of the pieces, a slightly darker taupe in a sea of white. She shrugged, conceding there  _ might _ be a difference, and he kept working steadily, sorting through the endless medusa pile. “At least they’re not diamond cut.”

Dani sighed. “Why are you not upset by this?” It was late, he could be home with Tally, and she could be home with anything that wasn’t digging through a mountain of evidence.

“‘Cause it’s just work that’s gotta be done,” he said matter-of-factly, his attention on rearranging the strips of paper.

“You’d make Bright do it if he were here.”

He tipped his head from side to side, not necessarily agreeing, but not denying it either.

“Let him go all intergalactic planetary on this shit.”

“Velociraptor style,” JT finally joked back.

“I don’t think that’ll do you any favors.” Dani smirked, pressing a few more keys. “This guy has looked into a bunch of cases on Websleuths and Justice Quest. Starting to find some overlap with cases Bright worked on.”

“What kind of cases?”

“Research, tracking down evidence, piecing together theories — some of them turned into cases here.”

“Anything out of the ordinary?”

“Just passing interest so far.”

JT pressed a handful of slivers together on the table. “I’ve got something.” He read across the fragments. “W Fer—n?”

Dani attempted another read. “Wes Fer—”

“Ferguson?”

“Sales of ten blade scalpels?”

“Seems like it. Look at the label.”

Nearly half of a logo was visible at the top.  _ Endicott Medical _ .

JT looked over the daunting pile before them again. “Have you found anything in that stack on The Surgeon?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“No — I can do a quick search, though.” She pecked at several keys, running multiple combinations of possibilities. “Gelman’s commented on several related cases before.”

“What about Bright?”

“You think I know his alias?”

“Guy probably has five for all we know,” JT agreed under his breath. “I’m gonna start looking for this Ferguson guy. You want more tea?” He stood from the table and took a long stretch.

She remembered Bright finding her in the conference room after the Estimé case, trying not to profile her and offering her tea. She cleared her throat. “Please.”

* * *

Malcolm sat at his desk, staring into the harsh light of the open laptop in front of him. He hadn’t been at the boards for quite some time. Between his enthusiastic need for the truth — obsession — surrounding the girl in the box, being kidnapped by a serial killer and spending a number of weeks with a cast on his hand, he’d been neglecting one of his favorite hobbies — solving crimes online.

As soon as he logged on, Malcolm found out that he had been dearly missed, judging by the number of messages his pseudonym - _ aXeThrower2 _ \- had. 

Most of them were people he had spoken with before, asking for his opinion on different aspects of several open cases. There was one in particular  _ -MizPicasso- _ that Malcolm was pretty sure was Edrisa.

Another member caught Malcolm’s attention. Even though the username  _ -SerialKiller99- _ was common enough on such a board, the content of that person’s messages were not.

The latest messages were mostly just all caps lock, demanding to know why  _ -aXeThrower2- _ wasn’t answering his questions and threatening the other members when they suggested that perhaps the user had left.

Malcolm started scrolling back, tracing - _ SerialKiller99- _ to their earlier posts. He soon found himself intrigued by the character.

While other users mainly posted newspaper clips and online findings about weird deaths, working together to find the culprits, - _ SerialKiller99- _ posted questions. Adding them all up, it was like he was putting together a compendium of ‘how to get away with murder’.

It could almost be taken as a quirky personality with an odd fascination for murder, which pretty much described Malcolm himself, but the language the person used and the slips of tongue that occurred on occasion raised Malcolm’s suspicions.

There were little things that hinted at a distorted version of reality. Side remarks where violence was glorified as the ultimate goal in life, snippets of serial killers’ interviews used to prove all the wrong points, jokes about things that most people would find upsetting or even horrifying. 

And then there were the big things, like trying to put together a mob to beat someone who had wronged him in some way, xenophobic remarks about users who misspelled words or claimed they were posting from outside the US, plain out racist slurs against crimes committed against people with any tone of skin other than pale white, sexist remarks over the women onthe boards...the list went on, hitting all the clichés for ignorance and bigotry.

There was a disturbed mind behind those posts and, to Bright’s fascination, that mind seemed focused on his.

He knew he shouldn’t, but it was impossible to resist picking at a devious mind like that. Besides, the profiler was pretty sure the man behind  _ -SerialKiller99- _ was most likely a real killer. He sent a private message, suggesting a meeting to discuss matters personally.

Malcolm reloaded his coffee cup, needing continuous refueling to keep perusing the crime boards for a case. 

He sipped and waited for a killer to bite his bait.

* * *

A late night turned into too early the next morning, and JT and Dani were back hacking at the web of connections between Gelman and Ferguson when Gil headed into his office. He made another attempt at interrogating Gelman, but the effort went nowhere — the guy wasn’t talking.

Too bad others couldn’t take the hint. A dozen calls from Claremont Psychiatric to Gil’s personal phone, demanding he listen. That Martin was trying to protect his kid.

Perhaps he should have thought of that twenty-three murders ago. Martin called the kid incessantly, sending him on all sorts of tangents Gil worried he wouldn’t survive one of these times. Gil couldn’t believe they still couldn’t wrestle Malcolm out of Martin Whitly’s grasp.

Because he kept going back.

_ Because of you _ , his memory reminded him, and its sting never lessened. Every time it hit him like an avalanche, stole his breath, and left him numb and drowning in guilt. 

Into the afternoon, his phone kept ringing, a revolving door of check in with the team, research what Gelman had been doing with an influx of cash, block Martin out of his head. Surely if he busied himself with enough other things, the man would tire in his cell and rot.

He could hope at least.

“Boss, we’ve got a problem.” JT appeared in Gil’s office doorway and barreled on through, his typical knock, knock missing. “Gelman and Ferguson are big fans of Bright’s.” JT placed a few printouts on Gil’s desk.

Gil’s brain jerked to catch up. A highlighted article of using x-acto knives as surgical instruments. Sutures with super glue. How to use hacksaws to dismember bodies. The art of the 21st century guillotine.

“What does any of this have to do with Bright?”

“They’re all articles he’s used to support findings on Websleuths and Justice Quest.” JT’s voice was a little breathless, like he had run all the way to his office.

“Again, what’s the problem, JT?” Gil’s voice was calm, but inside, he was anything but. Still, it was best not to fall down that rabbit hole until he was certain there was something to worry about.

“Ferguson’s a sadistic zealot with his eye on a second target,” JT shared. “His history on the crime boards includes a xenophobic rant, an attempt to incite mass hysteria, calling a user a ‘pretty little thing,’ and several other violations of terms of service.”

“What’d you find?” Gil’s voice dropped to concerned.

“Pictures. Research. Malcolm leaving the building here.” JT paused when Gil’s brow took on a paternal frown. “He also owns a second property upstate — worth looking at to see if it was the primary scene.”

Without even thinking about it and without any hesitation, Gil whipped out his phone and called Malcolm, his chest tightening when it went straight to voicemail. “Kid, call me,” he demanded. Hopefully, Malcolm was safe at home and not doing something stupid. The chances were slim, but a man could still hope. He grabbed his coat and directed to JT, “Get Troop G on the phone — let’s go look at this place.”

* * *

The place was huge, a mesh of quaint Victorian and farmhouse, the kind you'd expect to find in the South rather than upstate New York. 

_ -SerialKiller99- _ had responded with an address and a meeting hour.

Malcolm had been surprised at how fast he had gotten the man to meet him. He would have prefered to do this in a more crowded area, but the profiler was sure that if he didn’t take this chance, this possessive murderer would slip between his fingers.

It was a first for him. Usually, Malcolm took stupid chances to solve crimes he was investigating, putting himself in danger to catch the killer — this time, he was putting himself in danger to catch a potential killer with no knowledge of what crime the man might have committed. It was a stupid risk, he knew that. He should have called for backup, or at least told someone where he was, but he didn’t. His curiosity just kept him going. 

The place looked abandoned, left to disrepair, haunted. The moon was high, round and white, flooding the whole grounds in an ethereal kind of light that set Malcolm's nerves on edge.

Malcolm looked at the cab, driving away, leaving him all alone. Maybe he should have paid the cab driver to wait for him, but there was no telling what he was going to find. This might be a dead end, or it might lead him straight to the killer, and if that was the case, he had no right to risk another person’s life just because he needed to follow a lead.

Gil was going to kill him, of course. He had told him to stay home, but there was only so much he could gather about the killer looking at a computer screen. Besides, this was probably a dead end. He was merely ruling out the old, spooky house from their pool of possibilities. Just saving the team some time, that was it.

If he practiced the excuse long and hard enough, Malcolm was sure he could almost sell it to the lieutenant. Besides, if he had stayed home like Gil wanted, Malcolm wouldn't have caught the ghost of a movement out of the corner of his eye.

Over by an old silo, someone was heading inside.

Excitement unfurled through his body, sparking his legs into motion to catch up.

* * *

This farmhouse looked like the last farmhouse, looked like the last — they had certainly passed enough of them to get out there. On the drive, Gil had kept his phone under his thigh, picking it up and anxiously calling Malcolm again each time the itch was too much. At the place of interest, he made another attempt in frustration. “Bright — you need to  _ call _ me,” Gil stressed, leaving another voicemail.

“There look to be some outbuildings,” Dani reported. “Where to first?”

“Farmhouse.” Gil pointed at the main building on the property.

“He’s probably doing Bright things,” Dani reassured him.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Gil admitted, kicking some of the gravel under his shoe.

Bright things meant...trouble.

And whiskey. Lots of whiskey.

He wished he had some.

* * *

Malcolm made his way inside the silo. There were lights installed in the walls and a series of mesh metal staircases and floors spiraling up the inside. Fully renovated, it was unlike any other farm building he had ever seen, not that he had frequented very many.

He abandoned Gil’s advice of  _ call for backup _ and started up the stairs. Masochistic tendencies his vice, he didn’t really care if he got moderately scathed finding answers. He could brush them off with some sleep and start a new day. 

_ If he survived _ .

He knew Gil’s boss considered him the biggest liability. That he’d be thrown to the wolves, the remains of his head served up on a silver platter if the man ever found out.

None of those considerations stopped him from zeroing in on his target.

His feet pattered up the stairs until he reached the first landing. A makeshift desk held a random collection of least desired utensils, a phone charger, a laptop power cable, scotch tape — someone’s office. Nothing malignant — just a place to check email and eat a meal. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it.

Up another set of stairs, his shoes clacking all the way. The staircases were sure narrow enough. Custom build? Significant capital. What did the owner do that he could afford such a luxury?

Two sawhorses with an old door on top. Maybe from the farmhouse. Zip ties. A jar of magnets. A pincushion jammed full of pins. Like someone had taken all of their anger out on a voodoo doll.

“You never really learned  _ stranger danger _ , did you?” a voice came from above him.

Malcolm looked up, finding the next landing vacant. Who was the mystery man? Was it  _ -SerialKiller99- _ ?

“How did a city boy like you make it all the way out here?” his belittling voice bounced off Malcolm’s suit of armor. Malcolm had heard  _ way _ worse from ghosts of years past growing up in The Surgeon’s cold shadow — this guy wasn’t going to get under his skin.

What did he want? Was he a threat?

“You’re going to have to speak up!” the man shouted.

Malcolm continued up the stairs, needing to get a better vantage point to see where the man was, hoping it would be an easy conversation to find out what the man was up to.

* * *

The floorboards looked original, the wood sanded and resanded so many times a new pattern of foot traffic was worn into them. Despite the many, many rooms they had to search through, there was only one conclusion.

“There’s no one here, Gil,” Dani said.

Gil glanced around the house, wondering how some of the taxidermied animal heads had ever made it through customs. “Next building,” Gil directed.

“How big is this place?” Dani wondered.

“Big enough I definitely wore the wrong shoes,” JT said, watching his step as they made it back onto the grass.

“Competing with Bright now?” Dani returned.

“You both sound like him,” Gil grumbled.

Gil’s phone buzzed in his pocket —  _ Claremont Psychiatric _ .

He could only deal with one Whitly at a time, and right now, worry for Malcolm carried the cumulative effect of all four.

* * *

“You’re all mine now,”  _ -SerialKiller99- _ spoke.

“Excuse me?”

“Malcolm Bright. I’m quite a fan.”  _ -SerialKiller99- _ had a cheshire cat grin on his face and a look in his eyes as if he found buried treasure.

Malcolm’s heart skipped a beat. He knew of him?

“Or should I say Malcolm Whitly?” The man’s voice dropped to a whisper, like he was sharing a secret.

Shit. That didn’t bode well for Malcolm. It never did when people found out who he really was. Especially criminals. They either wanted to kill him or impress him with their ‘work’, thinking he was like his father.

“See, when I went looking for my next project…” Project? Was this going to be another Watkins moment? The thought left him chilled to the bone. He clutched his hand to stop the tremors. “I wanted someone who could take a little pain.” Ah, so that was the route he was going down.

“You’re pretty when you cry, you know that? On those steps out in front of the precinct when you think no one’s looking. Dipping your head and whimpering until a case draws you back in, ragged, red-dotted around your eyes.”

“You’ve been following me?” A thousand questions ran through his head. How long had  _ -SerialKiller99- _ been surveilling? What had he seen? Were Ainsley and his mother safe? Why had he caught  _ -SerialKiller99-’s _ attention in the first place?

“Had to know you were the right fit.”

“Who are you?” Malcolm asked in the hope the man wanted to reveal his name in a bid to show off.

“Giving up already? But you’re quite the profiler.” The man mocked. “Top notch detective skills. What’s your current case count on Websleuths? Eighty-six? Eighty-seven?”

Definitely  _ -SerialKiller99- _ . “Why were you so interested in those cases involving torture?” If Malcolm could keep him talking, he could buy himself more time.

“Torture’s a misleading term. Absolution, mercy maybe. It’s truly a thankless endeavor.”  _ -SerialKiller99- _ said with a nonchalant tone, waving his words off as he began to pace the room.

“Were they research? Whet your tongue?”

“Those were nosebleeds,”  _ -SerialKiller99- _ scoffed. “Nothing’s like membranes rupturing under your fingertips. The glub glub of swallowing fear.” He sighed, clearly relishing the images his words brought to mind. “Howls releasing inner beasts. The glorious moment the narcissist realizes they’re not immortal. The rictus left behind on a face.” He held his hand up in front of him in a chef’s kiss. “The best stuff.”

“You’re a killer.”

“Truly a treacherous profession. Partner. The brawn.”  _ -SerialKiller99- _ provided alternative names for his work and reached for Malcolm’s shoulder.

“Don’t touch me.” He recoiled out of reach.

“You see, I think you’re gonna do what I say.”  _ -SerialKiller99- _ brandished an antique-looking gun. “Any weapons on you?” He turned him around and quickly frisked him. “Alrighty, then.” He forced him by the hair against the side railing. “Don’t look down.”

Malcolm’s xiphoid process pressed against the top of the railing, most of his chest leaning over the side. If he fell the distance, he’d be ruined, his head cracked open on the concrete offering the buzzards a gruesome buffet. Was the farm still a working farm? Would chickens and pigs join them, too?

He shook his head, needing to come up with a better plan than death on the concrete, Gil’s hands cradling what was left of him, mourning, “I just wanted to keep you safe.”

Nope, the threat of Gil finding him dead wouldn’t clear his mind to help him get out alive, either. He clenched his jaw on the inside of his cheek, hoping the hint of pain would help him focus.

“Walk,”  _ -SerialKiller99- _ ordered, pushing the gun into Malcolm’s back.

Malcolm quizzically looked out into the abyss. “Where?” he asked, his voice hoarse under the stress.

“Don’t be naive.” The man forced him back toward the steps and nudged the gun again. “Walk.”

* * *

“Boss, this isn’t your typical silo,” JT shared his observation.

All three of them looked up the metal staircases. Nothing.

“JT!” someone yelled from above them.

That voice could only belong to one man. Malcolm was fixated on his end goal, unknowing his end goal was fixated on him. Again. JT was getting tired of the merry-go-round — the guy was worse than a latchkey child getting into everything without parental supervision.

Zip, JT flew up the stairs. Zap, Malcolm tore from Ferguson’s clasp. Whip and smash and bang and crash, the old door’s contents fell into the depths.

“NYPD!” JT hollered, training his gun on Ferguson.

The two men were enraged, struggling for dominance. Malcolm would be leaning over the edge, then Ferguson would be. Malcolm, Ferguson, Malcolm, Ferguson. Gun, gun, gun.

JT had a split second the gun wasn’t pointing at Malcolm, and he took the shot. Ferguson slumped to the ground, hit at center mass. Malcolm —

JT’s impassive stare dropped when Malcolm disappeared over the edge, helplessness flooding through his body all the way to his fingers still gripping the gun. The  _ crunch _ that followed vivisected his body, echoing a deafening  _ kaboom _ into his ears over the magnitude of the hit.

He reached for Ferguson’s pulse, his hand slipping through slick fluid, and found none. JT turned around to Dani’s wide eyes. “It’s not my blood,” he assured. “Go to Bright.”

* * *

“Bright!” Gil yelled, running down the stairs.

He floundered for air, a dozen ways he’d find Malcolm dead on the concrete infecting his mind. He could vouch the kid had done some stupid shit in his life, but this one took the cake.

Malcolm wasn’t zonked out when he got there, his head tipping back and forth in pain, which was a good sign. There was still enough of the kid left so he could grill him once he was out of danger.

Gil kneeled beside him, rubbing his cheek and tracing X-O-X-O into his wrist to soothe him.

* * *

Malcolm groaned on the concrete, every muscle and joint protesting the hit.  _ That’s going to bruise _ , he thought, rubbing the hip that seemed most painful, which only caused a chain reaction that put his shoulder next in line.

“I’m fine — don’t need x-rays,” Malcolm assured.

“Would you quit squirming?” Dani complained, pushing his shoulders back down against the ground. “You’ve got a head lac that’s already ruined your collar — let’s not go for the full passing out experience.”

“I’m not going to exsanguinate here. It’s not a big deal. Just a scratch.”

Dani scoffed, holding up a blood-gloved hand for Malcolm to see. He opened his mouth to bat her concern away but Gil’s indignation cut him off.

“You fell two stories —“

“Tiny ones,” Malcolm interrupted.

“ _ I _ get to pick what’s a big deal. You’re going to the hospital,” Gil ordered, not leaving any room for argument.

Malcolm tried to find some, anyway. “How about if I can walk to the car, you let me go home?” he smiled expectantly. Gil’s expression didn’t change, though, and his smile dropped awkwardly. 

“Stay down.” Gil pressed on his shoulder and fumed, “You do not  _ move _ .”

“Bright, one of these times karma’s gonna bite you in the ass with an internal injury. Stay put,” JT directed.

Malcolm’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and to everyone’s dismay, he answered it. “H’lo?”

“I’ve been trying to protect you!” Dr. Whitly’s voice came out in a shout, then he barrelled on, “Someone’s been stealing your mother’s money, and they’re stockpiling weapons to come after you! None of you picked up the damn phone — ”

“About that — “ Malcolm started.

“Could you all stop assuming I’m the bad guy here? I tried to tell you revenge was coming, but  _ no _ — ” Dr. Whitly’s voice cut off when Gil took the phone from his hands.

Apparently Gelman’s entire employment with his mother had been a hoax to ferret money from a client. Where did the lies end? What was his truth?

How had he even happened upon their murder suspect?

There were so many confusing thoughts that swirled around with the pain in his head, but he realized one thing —

He found backup.

* * *

Malcolm didn’t expect his day to end with getting rolled away on a backboard. By the time the ambulance arrived and the EMTs prepared him for transport, asking, “Are you ready?” before carting him away to the ambulance, Malcolm resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to escape a trip to the hospital.

The ride dragged on, the nearest hospital quite a ways away. He was in a bit of a daze, adrenaline’s jolt of euphoria fading to persistent pain and overall listlessness.

“You’ve got to stay awake, Mr. Bright,” one of the EMTs reminded him. “I know it hurts. We’ve gotcha on a little pain relief, and they can give ya the stuff that’ll make you loopy after they assess you at the hospital.”

If he was only able to figure out where he’d gone wrong to land him there in the first place.

* * *

“Where are you going, sir?” a nurse asked Gil.

“My kid is in there,” he pointed to a room just down the hall and flashed his visitor’s pass.

The nurse nodded and he continued on his way.

Malcolm had the door side of the hospital room. His eyes were trained away from any entrants, though Gil had no idea what he was seeing in the divider curtain. “Hey, kid,” he spoke, drawing his attention from whatever dark place he had traveled.

His face was ashen, the result of recovering from a surgery to reset the bones in his arm. As soon as he saw it was Gil, his eyes focused on his casted arm.

“Don’t look at it — you’ll only make it worse,” Gil warned, sitting in a chair beside the bed.

“I don’t think that’s how logic works.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion,” Gil teased.

“I’d like to get out of here.” Malcolm’s puppy dog eyes looked up at him.

“Not that one.”

“C’mon Gil — I’m in exile here. I could be so much more useful working a case.” 

Again with the song and dance routine about  _ anything _ he could be doing besides resting.

“That’s how you got here,” he reminded him, the vision of his fall catalogued in his brain along with a forever growing file of other injuries.

“It was an accident! I didn’t know he was your suspect.”

“Was choosing not to call me before investigating a  _ farm _ in the  _ country _ another accident? You’re lucky you didn’t end up at the bottom of a lake.”

“I’ll get my mother to pay my ransom.” Malcolm stuck out his bottom lip, pouting as if that would make Gil change his mind and take him home.

“Good luck, kid. I think you’ll find we’re a united front.” 

He sure as hell wasn’t dealing with Jessica’s wrath when he got home. They could keep their drama between them.

“How about — “

“If the next thing out of your mouth isn’t lemon jello, you’re going to need to reconsider,” Gil indicated, putting his foot down.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “He was kind of a cool guy,” he shared. “Found him online.”

“Of course you did.”

“-SerialKiller99-.”

Gil rubbed his forehead over how dense his kid could be. “That wasn’t enough of a warning?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“With you?” He shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“Lunch is coming soon. I’ll take the jello, you can take the rest.”

“That’s not how nutrition works — “

“Well…”

They continued bantering back and forth, healing in each other’s company. 

Malcolm’s phone buzzed and buzzed on the side table, yet no one answered.

* * *

_ fin _

**Author's Note:**

> When we play flash fics on the pson whump server, Jameena gives us a word, and we all write our own stories together for ~15 minutes. So far, this has been 133 prompt words and several hundred short stories. Jameena’s a frequent contributor of longer prompts, having lended dozens. She also happens to be the mastermind coordinating the whole PSON Whump Fic Exchange. All of her collective activities and support brings joy to our lives, and we celebrate her being a part of the pson fandom.
> 
> So we took two of her longer prompts:
> 
> Prompt: According to Edrisa in S1E12, “Malcolm Bright composed a 100% accurate profile of the Kingdom Lake Killer.” Apparently, he has quite a following on the true crime boards Websleuths and Justice Quest. Someone from that following has developed a dangerous obsession.
> 
> Prompt: Gil forbids Malcolm's involvement in a case with ties to the Miltons, and Malcolm...actually listens for once. Of course, trouble has a way of finding Bright anyway, and since he's technically off the case, no one immediately notices when their favorite profiler is otherwise occupied.
> 
> And the 133 flash fic prompts she’s given us:  
> “it was getting dark, and they weren’t there yet…”, “look at me” | “phone charger”, bodyguard, ghosts, sway, cling, sink, scrabble, quirk, volatile, tape, footsteps, agony, x-ray, skip, “pretty little thing”, zap, “just go already”, utensil, “quit squirming”, “now is not a good time”, “party trick”, “mass hysteria”, “super glue”, gotcha, lies, hoax, customs, trust, quiver, loopy, crash, “that’s going to bruise”, zip tie, “stranger danger”, dip, hip, rip, “you’re all mine”, hoarse, fixate, pin, tinker, quench, “just stay put”, abandoned, uncontrollable, muzzle, vice, “you’ve got to stay awake”, quizzical, zealot, kaboom, backfire, quaint, mislead, howl, “you’re going to have to speak up”, xoxo, “it’s not my blood”, vacant, preen, underestimate, rictus, “don’t look down”, exsanguinate, nerve, “x-acto knife”, cable, whimper, jar, absolution, hacksaw, voodoo, inconspicuous, flounder, x-out, frisk, “i won’t ask again”, ragged, nosebleed, “giving up already?”, jolt, daze, beg, “you’re pretty when you cry”, reload, “just a scratch”, “xiphoid process”, liability, exile, malignant, rescue, xenophobia, “zero in”, “thrown to the wolves”, narrow, infect, vouch, clack, “knock knock”, email, “stay down”, “my kid is in there”, hoarse, dread, thankless, “don’t touch me” | drag, listless, methodical, obey, crush, “latchkey child”, “glub glub”, enrage, howl | hope, xanax | “you’ll never learn” | zeal, helplessness | rupture | antsy, “abuse of authority” | belittle | cold, “are you ready?” | karma | probe, maddening | able | “don’t look at it”, ruin | “i’ll do anything” | paternal, entitled | “keel over” | guillotine, “tell me the truth” | “i just wanted to keep you safe” | “no problem”, jam, dark | nightmare | relish, drown | violate | treacherous, grill | impassive | lake, vivisect | cracked | ransom, jaw, zonked, ash, “don’t be naive” | accident | narcissism | immortal
> 
> And included all of them in this story. We hope it brings a smile — we sure had fun writing it. :)


End file.
